Junkies
by Chellero
Summary: Carter goes looking for answers.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My first POI story. Many thanks to wolfmusic218 for her encouragement. Hope you enjoy!

She was two blocks behind him. Never closer than one-and-a-half. Never farther than two and a quarter. She had needed to strike the perfect stalking distance for this one. Too far and she'd lose him. Too close and he'd make her in a second. Her usual was a strict one-and-a-half blocks. But this was a special case. He was a special case.

She slowed her casual stroll when she saw him enter a shop. Which shop she wasn't sure. She was still too far back to tell. Familiar with the area, it was either the bakery or the watch repair place. Either would be entirely plausible. She took her phone out of her suit jacket pocket to casually fiddle with it, hoping to remain inconspicuous amongst the bustling afternoon New York City crowd while she casually stood alongside the curb, occasionally glancing in the direction of the shop John had entered. She quickly wondered if he had made her, and was making his way out the back of the shop to escape her tail. She lowered her phone to her side and took a few steps in the shop's direction. As she pondered her next move, she saw him exit the building and continue on his way. He was empty handed. Must have been the watch repair shop.

He moved swiftly but perhaps it just seemed that way to her. His long legs carried him farther, faster than hers did. For a split second, she worried she might lose him. But then that wasn't very likely. He stood out in a crowd, and it wasn't just due to his height. It was the way he walked, the air of swag. Confidence. He gave off an aura of purpose and determination. How he never attracted enough attention to get caught by the myriad of people itching to catch him was unbeknownst to her. Even though she was supposed to be one of them. Even though she was pretending to be one of them. Even though she was acting like one of them right now by following him.

But it wasn't to arrest him. It was to catch him. She needed information. She needed to know something, anything. Where he and Harold met up. Where either one of them lived. Something. Anything that would help her figure out how in the hell they got the information they did. They wouldn't tell her so she would have to find out on her own. A lot of damn nerve they had. Stringing her and Fusco along, not even giving them scraps, while they risked everything to help the two men carry out their well-intentioned but illegal as hell mission. Why were she and Fusco on a need-to-know basis while John and Harold knew everything about them? Was that shit fair? Respectful? Absolutely nothing in her nature could accept it. Not any longer.

She continued following him at a more than respectable distance when she saw him reach into his jacket pocket briefly. The phone in her hand vibrated. _Shit_, she thought. She looked at the caller id. Unknown. He had made her. She wondered if she should even bother to answer it. Ultimately deciding to get it over with, she held the phone to her ear.

"Something on your mind, Detective?"

Sometimes that haunted whisper of his was infuriating. She stopped in her tracks not caring if anyone was behind her. Hanging up the phone, she released a long-suffering sigh and a humorless smirk took over her features. She watched as he turned around, walking backwards briefly with his own smirk marking his face before he turned back around, maintaining his momentum.

More than a little pissed off with herself for not being more careful-never mind that she hadn't considered the possibility that he knew her location by the GPS on her phone-she turned around, heading back in the direction from which she came. This was going to be harder now. Now that he knew what she was up to. Why was she even going through all of this drama? Why not just let all of it go? Simplify her life again?

She had made it about four blocks when she sensed his looming presence behind her. Before she could turn around to verify her suspicion she felt him slip his arm about her waist, guiding her movement.

"Well, Detective? Was there something I could help you with?"

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes as he led her to a short alleyway with a dumpster at the end not fifteen feet away from them. How convenient.

Stopping just inside the alley, he released her. He stood just outside her personal space while he looked down at her, a disturbingly neutral look on his face that just served to cause her even more irritation.

She decided to skip the niceties. "You know what I was doing." She watched as he turned his head toward the dumpster and nodded. He knew.

"I can't tell you that, Carter."

She wanted to throttle him. How many times had she heard that? It was like beating her head against a brick wall. In fact, she probably should just beat her head against the very brick wall she was leaning against. Instead, she shook her head and began to make her way back onto the busy sidewalk.

Quickly reaching his arm out to stop her, Reese brought her back around to face him. "It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just too dangerous for you to know." He changed his look of neutrality to one of imploring. His hands were tied. He needed her to get it. He needed her to understand. He knew it was going to come to this, her trying to figure things out on her own. He also knew he shouldn't have let it. He should have given her more a long time ago.

Carter snorted. "And what I'm doing now isn't too dangerous, John? One slip up and I'm going down harder than either one of you. I need to know what you know. It's what I don't know that could hurt me. I'm going against my job, my oath. I'm lying to feds, CIA agents. I get caught, I'll lose my job, get locked up, lose my son. But it's too 'dangerous' for me to know some simple information." As she finished her short tirade, she began to wonder. Exactly why was she doing it? It was a huge risk. One with a potentially epic fallout. A risk she was taking for essential strangers.

He looked away again. "You're risking a lot, Carter." There was a brief pause while he contemplated his next question. "Why do you do it?"

Carter shook her head again. He was changing the subject. She was going to get nowhere. As usual. Knowing a complete waste of time when she saw one, she started on her way when once again, he drew her back to stand in front of him.

Noting the increasingly irritated expression on her face, he quickly released his light hold on her, holding his hands up in front of him in surrender. He took a small step toward her, straddling that invisible personal space line, and this time looked directly into her eyes as he lowered his hands to his sides. He didn't repeat his question. He just stood there, his eyes asking it again for him.

She hadn't realized, until that moment, how penetrating his gaze could be. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling herself being compelled to answer his question, tell him anything he ever wanted to know, and it pissed her off.

He already knew why she did what she did. How in the hell could he not? He was subtle with it but he was one of the smartest people she knew. And she was fast learning how manipulative he could be as well. Because she knew he knew. And yet she stood there, ready to humor him. Surrender. "You know why. You're doing good things. You're helping people. I owe you a debt. And I almost got you killed. I kinda feel bad about that."

There. It was more than she'd ever given him before, not that he'd ever asked. And it was all true. She admired how far he was willing to go to help strangers. She owed him a lifetime of gratitude for herself and her son. And there was guilt. A lot of guilt. Even though she knew in her mind that, at the time, she had done nothing wrong, considering the limited amount of information she had about him and what her damn job was.

He kept those eyes trained on her, reading her, increasing her discomfort level. She wanted him to turn that shit off, what he was doing with his eyes. She almost didn't hear him when he spoke.

"And?" There he was with that whisper again. She didn't know how he could speak so softly and yet be so commanding at the same time.

"And what?" She was somehow beginning to regain some control over her faculties now. Now that she knew what his game was. How he was trying to see right through her. She watched as he didn't say anything, still reading her, before a knowing grin limped across his features.

"You like the thrill, Detective. You like taking risks."

She breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn't so sadistic after all. He had let her off the hook. Somewhat. She _was_an adrenaline junkie. She charged toward challenges, swore up and down that curiosity never killed cats. She liked the high and she liked helping people. He might have seen it in her the first time he laid eyes on her. Fellow junkie that he was.

She shrugged. "Maybe." Feeling her confidence return to full power along with her faculties, she decided to turn the tables on him. She doubted many people ever successfully did. "Tell me something. When I turned you in to Snow, you didn't even blink. You still trusted me. Why?" She stood there, still meeting his eyes, wondering if she was going to be one of those select few.

He turned away from her again, looking at nothing in particular, and shrugged. "I should have seen it coming. You were doing your job. Following orders. I can understand that."

It wasn't enough for her. She hadn't gotten enough out of him. He had come out of nowhere and saved her life right in the nick of time. Like a damn superhero in a movie. And instead of showing her gratitude by letting him slide, just that once, she dropped a dime on him. And he still took the risk of meeting up with her in that diner. Perhaps he hadn't really decided to until he'd followed her that morning and saw her skillfully ditch her CIA tail. Or perhaps he had. Either way, there wasn't an ounce of anger or mistrust in his eyes when he sat across from her. "Most people aren't that forgiving when someone turns them in and almost gets them killed. Especially after they just saved that someone's life. Why didn't you care about what I did?"

He still didn't meet her eyes. He still looked at that particular nothing. It was several seconds before he answered. And when he spoke, his voice was...normal. Quiet, but normal. No whisper. No sarcasm. No humor. "I just can't get mad at you."

_Damn_, she thought. She had gotten something out of him. A tiny sliver of his feelings, his thoughts. She was encouraged. And touched.

He couldn't get mad at her.

And she couldn't not do what he asked. With those mental revelations, her voice softened. "Why did you pick me in the first place? We had only met before for five seconds and I was interrogating you." Her thoughts wandered. There were other cops, other decent cops. And didn't he and Harold already have Fusco? Fusco had told her he had started working with them before he was transferred to the homicide task force, but John had been leaving missing-but-presumed-dead teenage girls in her care before she ever met Fusco. While she was hot to track him down and get him off the streets. "Why did you let me take your prints in the first place? You're not stupid. No matter how far gone you were, you knew what I was doing." She was soon looking off in another direction as well, pondering even more. John and Harold knew everything about everyone. The thought struck her. Sure, he certainly didn't look like he did now back then. But was he already working with Harold? Had he known of her before she met him at the station? Did he know something about her that would explain his automatic and unrelenting trust in her? "Did you already know who I was?"

She turned back to him and watched as he took a deep breath. It was several seconds before he answered.

"No."

And then he was gone. In a flash.

Carter drove out of the movie theater parking lot later that evening after having dropped Taylor and his friend off. It was Friday and she was looking forward to meeting her friend, Dawn, at Roscoe's for drinks. After the day she'd had, she needed it. The distraction. She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier. Sure, she hadn't gotten any closer to figuring out anything about their elusive operation. Which still pissed her off. But John. Fearless, self-assertive, over-confident John had run away. As much as she'd been replaying the event in her head, she refused to allow her mind to go there. To acknowledge what that meant. She also refused to acknowledge how it made her feel. Nothing good could come of it. Nothing good at all.

She was startled out of her musings by her phone vibrating in her pocket. Looking at the caller id, she immediately answered. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, girl. Listen. Brian's sick as a dog so I've gotta stay home and watch the kids. Can I get a rain check?"

_Damn_. "Of course. You need me to get anything?"

"Oh, no, girl, thanks. We're fine. I'm sure he'll feel better in a couple days."

"Okay, well let me know. Tell Bri I hope he feels better soon."

"I will, girl, thanks."

"Alright. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, bye."

"Well, there goes that," Carter muttered to herself as she re-pocketed her phone. She had had no other plans for the evening, and briefly considered stopping by to visit with her mother before ultimately deciding to just go home. Taylor's friend's dad would be dropping him off in a couple of hours after the movie so she figured she might as well get some cleaning done in the meantime. To keep herself busy. An idle mind was not what she wanted to deal with at the moment.

Walking down the hallway to her apartment, she paused at the door, unlocking it before entering. She had left one light on as was her usual practice but she still didn't notice that more of them were on until she closed and locked the door behind her, tossing her keys on the table before being startled out of her mind. She put her hand to her chest in her surprise. "Jesus, John." He was sitting on her couch. Lounging. Like he owned the place. The television on the wall was on as well. Apparently, confident John was back. She glanced at the TV as she approached him. The Cooking Channel. Interesting. "Why don't you do like a normal person and come back later if I'm not home?"

He smiled. "I'm not normal."

"Well, can you at least fake it?" She watched as he shrugged. Taking her shoes off, she picked them up, turned back to her bedroom and tossed them through the entryway. If he was going to act like earlier today hadn't happened, so would she. "So what's going on? Something wrong?" She walked back into the living room, pausing in front of the TV, her hands resting on her hips. The last time he'd shown up in her apartment uninvited and unannounced was when Harold had been kidnapped.

Wordlessly, Reese stood, taking his phone out of his pocket, turning it off before removing his ear bud. Setting both pieces on the couch cushions, he turned to face her. If Finch was still up working, listening, he would take the hint, and refrain from listening in via Carter's phone instead. Reese wanted her to know what he was about to say was important. Between them. And he didn't want any distractions.

He wanted her to know that what she was doing, what she was helping them with, what she was sacrificing and risking, wasn't all in vain. That they did trust her, and that keeping the machine a secret from her wasn't out of disrespect: it was a necessity. To keep her and Fusco safe. To keep _her_safe. All other feelings aside, that was the bottom line. For him anyway. It would always be. Her safety. If she knew nothing else, she needed to know that. So she could close her eyes at night and know that, even if she wasn't privy to everything, she could always count on him to have her back, protect her.

He got straight to the point. "I really can't tell you everything Finch and I know. If I did and certain people found out-and they will-you'd probably be dead within twenty-four hours. I'm not about to let that happen to you. Not on my watch."

Trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze and the impact of the words coming out of his mouth, she still tried to probe. She couldn't help it. "John, what the _hell_is it? Some kind of crazy, supernatural type shit? And somebody would try to kill me if I knew?" What had she gotten herself into? "Is it a person you're getting your information from, some computer? What?" She watched as an almost pleading look crossed his face, as though his eyes were begging her to stop asking him questions. "If it's so dangerous, why do you and Harold know about it?"

"Because we're already dead."

"So what is this? I'm just supposed to let this go? Just keep doing what I'm doing not knowing exactly what the hell it is I'm doing?"

"Yes," he stated simply. "Please. Just trust me."

She shook her head incredulously. _This is crazy. I must be out of my mind._She headed to the kitchen, suddenly needing some air he wasn't breathing. When had her life gotten so convoluted? Why had he been accosted on that subway and subsequently walked into her life that god forsaken day and never let her go? Taylor would be without both his parents right now if he hadn't. But what was the price she was paying now?

Reese followed her into the kitchen. "I know we're asking a lot. You should be asking questions." He thought for a moment, back to his days in the agency. "I should have asked questions." Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he continued. "We'll understand if you want out. We'll stop asking you for help, leave you alone. But I'm always going to look out for you. That's not negotiable." He stood at the entrance to the kitchen and watched as she rested her hands against the countertop, leaning heavily with her head down. After about thirty seconds, she lifted her head, a soft, sad smile playing on her face.

"I'm always gonna have my guardian angel, huh?" She finally turned to look at him. She couldn't describe the look on his face. She was scared to. It made her stomach flutter. And it warmed her heart. She had never known anyone like him. Had never had anyone so openly and fiercely determined to protect her. When he had absolutely no obligation to do so. And even though she was just as fiercely independent, felt just as strong if not stronger than all the men she worked with as a cop and all those she served with in the military, he brought out a part of her that she'd carefully closed off. That vulnerable part of her that yearned for the protection he was selflessly offering. That secret part that relished being cherished and shielded by a strong, capable man.

And that was why. His selflessness, his heart, his courage, his ability to put others before himself was why she felt the sudden urge to hug him. To hold him. To thank him. For everything he'd done for her. For everything he'd done for everyone he'd ever helped. For being him. When was the last time anyone had hugged him? When was the last time he'd felt that emotional connection to another person? When was the last time anyone had done anything for him? The pull was strong and she didn't, wouldn't, fight it.

Walking toward him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, feeling his body tense up. Out of surprise, fear, being unaccustomed, she wasn't sure. But it wasn't long before he relaxed, eventually bringing his arms up to wrap around her small frame. He had needed this. She was sure. After a long moment passed, she felt she should pull away, but he wasn't budging. He hadn't gotten enough yet. He had been long deprived. And she had never felt safer. And it was a feeling she could get accustomed to.

But there was a problem building, billowing around them. Emotions. Things she had refused to think about, feelings she had positively refused to acknowledge, were creeping in. They were swirling around them as they stood in her kitchen, poking and prodding at them as if they were caught in the center of a whirlwind.

He was about to drown. In spite of the fact that he could swim. And instead of helping him, saving him, she had pulled him down further. Pulling back, he waited until she lifted her head to look at him. And realized it was too late. He would never be able to swim back up fast enough. He lowered his head, his thinking apparatus on lockdown. He brushed his lips against hers before she turned away, breaking the contact. She was leaving him down there, swimming toward the surface. It was her fault he was down there in the first place; he had to bring her back. He moved his head tentatively to find her lips again. When he did, he refused to let go. He heard her whimper as he began to kiss her fully, deeply, the spark igniting and the ferocity leaping to stratospheric levels in seconds. He lowered his hands to her waist, pulling her body against his lower half, feeling it come alive after lying dormant for so long. He wanted her horizontal. He wanted to consume her. He wanted to be greedy and pound himself into her all night. And all morning. The feeling was so strong he felt like his skin was on fire. He felt like he was having an out of body experience when he felt her push him away.

Breathing heavily, Carter tried to find her bearings. But it was feeling damn near impossible with his arms still around her, his body close, the heat from his skin setting her skin on fire. But this was crazy. What they were doing. Nothing good could come of it. Nothing good. "What are we doing?" She looked into his eyes. And goddamn that was a mistake. They were rendering her helpless, weak. Forcing her to surrender. When absolutely nothing good could come of this.

"This." He leaned down and again took her breath away. Stole it like the criminal he was.

_Oh, God. Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! What am I doing?_She had never been kissed like this in her life. It was pure sex in a kiss. She felt like she was going to come any minute. Her panties were so soaked, so uncomfortable, she wanted to rip them off. Now.

But, God, what was she doing? What were they doing? Something, from somewhere deep inside her, gave her the strength to separate her mouth from his. She turned her head, his lips falling to her cheek, her jawline, her ear lobe. Her lungs were burning, were about to explode. "We can't." _Don't look at him_, she told herself. _Don't look at him._

"We need to," the ear he was relentlessly nibbling at heard. "...once...one time...just once."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_She turned her head back, so her poor ear and the tender spot behind it could catch a break. Licking and sucking and nipping at them, he was making her teeth chatter. But that had been a rookie mistake. She wasn't thinking. She wasn't thinking clearly at all. Because now he'd taken her mouth again. Her hands flew to his head, grasping at his hair and drawing him closer.

He stumbled forward. She felt her back pressed against the refrigerator. Heard some of the magnets and clips fall to the floor. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her ass before sliding along her sides and around, gently squeezing her breasts before dropping lower and pulling her shirt out of her slacks. His hands christened her skin underneath her shirt at her waist.

And it jolted her out of her trance. She had to stop. She had to stop this right now. For both of them. Bad things were going to come of this. She gave him a rough shove, enough to startle him, break through his haze. "John, stop. Please. I can't-I can't think."

They were both sucking in air so violently, it was a wonder there was any left in the room at all.

Trying to calm his racing heart, Reese took a step back, leaving his hands at her waist, resting his forehead against hers. He wasn't altogether with it yet and was scrambling to regain his footing. The feeling was causing him distress. He was out of sorts. And not in any way used to it. What was Carter doing to him? Why was he so powerless to stop it?

Knowing he had to go, had to get out of there quickly so he could find himself again and stem the desire for her that had overtaken him, he lifted his head from hers and kissed her softly on her forehead. Closing his eyes, he let his lips linger there for a moment before forcing himself to release her and leave her trembling in the kitchen. Heading for her front door, he almost forgot his cell phone and ear piece. Walking over to the couch to retrieve them, he unlocked her door, opened it, and left without looking back.

Outside of her building, the cool fall air felt good inside his lungs.

The moment he left, Carter felt her legs give way beneath her and she crumpled to the kitchen floor. She had never in her life felt like this before. From just his kisses and touch. And she had been married before. She felt raw, stripped bare. He'd lit her on fire and just the thought of him pulsating in and out of her, over and over again, was making her moan right there where she sat. She felt tears burning behind her eyelids.

What had just happened? And how? How had she let it? Everything had just changed. Every secret feeling she wouldn't dare acknowledge to herself that she had for that man was there now, right in the open. For her and for him to see. The genie was out of the bottle. Or was it more like Pandora's box? What was there left to do now? What would she do when she saw him again? And good God did she want to. In spite of everything her head was telling her. About nothing good coming of it, of this. She still wanted to see him. Still wanted to feel him. Wanted him to hold her, love her.

She ran her hands down her face, holding them there, willing herself to get it together. She didn't know how long the movie was but Taylor would probably be home in about an hour. And she needed to be normal, mom Joss before he did. Not this quaking, pitiful mess. Finally gaining what little of her bearings she could find, she rose from the floor. Looking down, she saw several refrigerator magnets scattered about and the memory of John's hot body pressing hers against the Maytag appliance hit her hard. She had longed to free him from the confines of his pants at that moment. But her head, her fears, wouldn't let her. She leaned down and picked them up, putting them back where they belonged. She looked over at the microwave clock. It was just before nine o'clock. She decided to take a shower-a long, cool one-and maybe grab a bowl of cereal and watch TV while she waited for Taylor.

Finished applying her lotion, Carter was about to exit the attached bathroom to find some underwear and pajamas to put on when she paused to look at herself in the mirror. She looked...different. To her own eyes. She touched her lips. They still looked slightly swollen. She squeezed her thighs together as she stood there. Involuntarily remembering again. She was soaking wet again in seconds.

_Jesus_. She needed to put some clothes on and turn on the television. She needed a distraction. Not bothering to cover herself up with a towel-the bedroom door was closed, Taylor wasn't home and he knew to knock if he wanted something-she flung open the bathroom door and took a step out before she froze in her tracks.

John was standing there, his back to her. When he heard her leave the bathroom, he turned around. His dark blue, grey, green eyes took her naked form in, soaked her up, before she found herself pinned against the wall beside her open bathroom door, his hands roaming her body unencumbered, his tongue declaring war with hers. It hadn't needed to, though: she had already surrendered.

Grabbing at his pants, she undid his belt and unbuttoned his black pants while he kneaded her breasts. She pushed them down and pressed her palm against his erection through his briefs. She swallowed his groan in her mouth and felt his hands move from her breasts to cup her ass before his left hand found her sweet spot from behind. He swallowed her cry in his mouth. She was ready for him. Wet, hot, and waiting. He took his hands away from her body to push his underwear down, never relinquishing his hold on her lips and tongue. Using one foot to slip off one of his shoes, he used the other to do the same before stepping out of the pool of material at his feet and kicking it aside.

He couldn't wait. Not another second. He guided himself into her, finally tearing his mouth away from hers to look into her eyes. Lifting her up, he held her firmly at her waist as she wrapped her legs around his. He didn't move for several seconds. He just stared into her eyes. It felt like heaven and hell and fire and ice. He thrust once, twice, the whimpers coming from her lips and desire pouring from her eyes making it incredibly difficult to control his body's reaction to hers. Giving up the fight, he was soon drilling himself into her, no longer able to retain eye contact from the frenzy. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, swears and animalistic sounds poured from his lips. From her lips. Indescribable pleasure engulfed them, encased them, swallowed them whole. The electrifying crescendo built until their explosion sent pieces of them flying beyond this world, into the next. Panting, Reese tried to hold them up. He failed. They sank to the floor, still linked together physically and emotionally, and waited for their breathing to even out. Wordlessly, he pulled himself from inside her and sat down heavily next to her. Spent. Fulfilled. Terrified. He had never felt, never expelled so much passion for another woman before in his life. Why would it happen now, when he couldn't have anything remotely akin to normalcy in his life?

She stared straight ahead as she sat there naked, sated, completely exposed. They had done it. They had gone and done it.

So now what?

Silence stretched for miles in front of them, between them. He had been right. They had needed that one time, to relieve the tension. To bring it down to a tolerable simmer. But a cold, dark reality now permeated. It was another few moments before she found her voice. "You're going to break my heart."

It was a long minute before he responded. "I'm sorry." He knew as well as she did it was inevitable.

"I know." She felt his left hand slide into her right. They sat there for another few minutes, feeling the coldness begin to ebb, replaced by enlightenment. Whatever they had, whatever it was, they knew they only had a moment, however short or long.

Silence once again took over the space before his voice filled it. "It was your eyes. Something in them. I wanted to see it again." She finally turned to look at him, waiting for him to continue. "That's why I picked you." He met her eyes. "I always want to see it."

They both jumped as they heard the front door unlock. _Taylor_. Her bedroom door, perpendicular to the front door, was wide open. Carter quickly jumped up, still holding Reese's hand, and darted into the bathroom, praying her son wouldn't stick his head in her room to announce his arrival and see John's clothes and shoes on the floor. Or at least wouldn't look close enough to recognize what they were.

"I'm back, Ma," she heard him call out in the general direction of her bedroom as she heard him continue on his way down the hall.

"Okay." She answered.

"Night!" He responded, probably already in his room.

"Night, T." She wondered if he'd even heard her. Turning to face John, she gave him a look of apology. And relief. He smiled and squeezed her hand before releasing it.

Leaving the protection of the bathroom, he bent down to gather up his clothes. He looked and felt ridiculous. Fully clothed from the waist up, socks still on his feet. He had been in such a hurry to find his place inside her he hadn't even removed his suit jacket. He watched as she quickly made her way over to her bedroom door, finally closing it. Damn she was perfect. Small, curvy, sexy, perfect. He ran his eyes up her body as she made her way back over to him.

"You don't have to go." She slid her hands inside his suit jacket and ran them up his chest before sliding the garment off his shoulders. He dropped the pants and shoes in his hands. "We'll just have to be quiet." She began to work on the buttons of his white dress shirt. He stood there and watched. His eyes on her face as she focused on his buttons. What the fucking hell would he do if he lost her? If he had to go through that devastation again? He decided then and there that he wouldn't. He'd just go with her.

She led him to her bed, folding down the comforter and sheet before climbing in, dragging him with her. He settled on top of her, familiarizing himself with how she felt beneath him. Kissing her, he slowly slid back into her warmth.


	2. Chapter 2

"Nice work, Harold."

Harold Finch turned his entire torso slightly in Reese's direction as the suited man entered the library early Saturday afternoon. "And to you, too, Mr. Reese." He observed his friend closely, briefly. He had had to awaken John early that morning when their time had run out. Don Whitman, the unscrupulous low level employee who had figured out the CFO of his company was laundering drug money and wanted in on the action, had been spared by John's quick action before said CFO's hired thugs could take him out. Finch had wrapped things up doing what he did well: ruining the CFO's personal finances.

He watched as John took a moment to toss Bear's squeaky toy across the room before settling down into a chair and relaxing his body.

"Any new numbers?"

"Not at the moment. You're free to do whatever it is you do." Finch continued to watch him as unobtrusively as possible.

"Think I'll go home. Relax a little."

That shot his radar up. The man was not a fan of idle time. He always needed to be doing something, needed to be engaged in some sort of activity. Harold didn't think the word "relax" was in his friend's vocabulary. "Really." The word was not a question. He watched as John's eyes darted to him, squinted, curious.

"I can't take a break, Finch?" He teased, his curiosity suddenly piqued as well.

"Of course, Mr. Reese." Harold turned back to his center computer screen. Something was...different. Not necessarily amiss but...different. He had inkling as to why but he couldn't know for sure. Earlier that day, they had needed to deposit CFO Reynolds into the care of the NYPD. Eight times out of ten, they gifted criminals to one of their two detectives. It was just easier logistically. No need to go to the trouble of anonymously relaying information or have suspicious cops wondering who tied up their prisoners in nice, neat bows. Which would eventually lead to them asking the perps questions about who tied those bows. No, Detectives Carter or Fusco would conveniently arrest their suspects who would most likely be too worried about saving their own hides to mouth off about the tall guy in a suit who captured them.

Of those times, ninety percent were gifted to Detective Carter. Even though it was the weekend and neither detective was on call, they still preferred to deal with them as opposed to other members of the NYPD. This time, Finch noted, John had pointedly asked him to roust Detective Fusco.

Even though he'd just been at Detective Carter's home early that morning.

Harold decided to pry. Just a little. He had to admit he was fantastically curious. And it wasn't as though John hadn't slyly tried to do the same to him on numerous occasions. He turned to his friend again before asking his question. "Is Detective Carter alright?" He didn't get a visible reaction. John's face was just as neutral as ever. He wasn't sure why he was expecting anything different. Mr. Reese could be very stoic under the most stressful of situations.

"As far as I know. Why?" Reese quietly wondered what Finch was trying to get out of him. And why. When he'd backtracked to Carter's apartment last night, he had left his phone in his pocket. He hadn't turned it off again. Hadn't been thinking about it really. He had been consumed by other thoughts. Harold didn't usually make it a point to listen in on him when he knew he was going home for the night or early morning. Whichever it was. Surely, _surely _Finch hadn't been listening. After he'd climbed into Carter's bed, they had been quiet. As quiet as they could be. Taylor was down the hall. But that first, completely uninhibited time?

Harold was about ninety percent certain now. Something had happened. Any other time, had he asked about the detective, he most certainly would not have gotten such a cavalier response. His friend would have been on alert. This was the same man who had gotten nearly fatally shot due to her unfortunate actions, but had asked about her welfare the first chance he got before nearly pleading with him to look after her until he was back on his feet again. He and Mr. Reese often played a cat-and-mouse game when it came to sharing personal information. But this was different. This could affect their operation. Negatively. He turned back to his computer screen again. "I'm just curious, Mr. Reese. When I contacted you this morning, I saw you were at her apartment. I thought maybe, perhaps, she'd somehow gotten left with your phone but when you answered..." He purposely let his voice trail off.

Reese decided it would be futile. Harold wasn't letting anything show on his face. But the man was notorious for only letting things slip when he wanted. When he was good and ready. John didn't know what, if anything, Harold had heard. But he surely had enough information to be curious. After all, Harold had been the one to alert him to Carter's tailing him the day before while he was in the watch repair shop. He hadn't been aware. Not even slightly. Which gave him pause: either Carter was just that good or he was slipping. Either way, he was quite certain his boss had been aware of their ensuing conversation. When she had tried to probe into his feelings in that alley. "Okay, Harold. I was there. Do you really need me to go into detail?" He was glad Finch had the decency _not _to blush. This was awkward enough.

"Do you know what you're doing, Mr. Reese?"

John knew what he meant. What he was getting at. "Nothing's going to change."

"She's not going to be curious about this?" He motioned to the room around them. "The machine? More so, at least?" He paused to look apprehensively at his friend. "A relationship wrought with secrets, Mr. Reese..." He let his voice trail off once again.

Reese turned a hardened stare onto his friend. He was striking a nerve. Carter didn't know a lot of things. A lot. How would it work? She was profoundly inquisitive, probably even more so than he was. Had he thoroughly convinced her last night to leave well enough alone? Would it be a constant source of contention? Would she wear down his resolve to never tell her? Could he trust himself not to bend to her will? If she looked at him again like she had when he was making painstakingly slow love to her in her bed, would he stay strong? Peck. He had to remember what happened to him when he'd inadvertently learned about the machine. Otherwise, he'd end up giving her a nugget and she would dig further even if he begged her not to, not really believing that simply knowing could kill her. She couldn't help herself. He wouldn't have been able to either. "I know she can't know, Finch." He watched as Harold started typing away at the keyboard. Apparently the issue was closed for now.

"I hope you're right, John. That nothing will change."

All weekend the thoughts were gnawing away at her, slicing her open and pouring salt in the wounds. She had jumped too far too fast. Bitten off more than she could chew. Was she ready? Was she really ready for this disaster? Because that's where it was certainly going to lead. Down Complicated Boulevard straight to Heartbreak Hotel. John was already on his seventh or eighth life. Why had she just signed up to watch his final act?

Dickmatized. She had heard the term a few times before. Did it apply? After that first time, they had come to an understanding. An acknowledgment or agreement of sorts. A consensus that it felt right, would be right, for as long as it could be. For as long as he could escape imprisonment or death. But when she'd held his hand and later brazenly asked him to stay, she wasn't thinking about the ramifications. Not really. She was high off of him, what he had done to her, with her, how so very good it felt to be fucked. Feel that tension slip away. But she hadn't fully considered the implications. The implications of a romantic relationship with him, if it could even be called that.

John. He was a mystery to her. Outside of what she'd learned in his military file-all the basics- there was nothing else there. She knew none of his experiences, or even how he felt about the simplest of things. Not even how he took his coffee. He didn't share things about himself and she could only assume that the last time he was happy or fulfilled was when he was with the woman whose husband had killed her. If the picture she'd saved for him didn't show the depth of his feelings for her, his killing her murderer had. And she knew that. She knew John had killed him. What she didn't know, however, was what kind of murders or other ugly things he had done before that. Was that wise? To jump into something with someone capable of such things? With someone she knew hardly anything about? With someone who didn't even call her by her first name?

Taylor. Her baby. How would any of this be fair to him? He knew even less about John than she did. He'd want to know things. About the guy hanging around his mother. But what could she tell him? What would John tell him if he asked? How dumb would she look being unable to answer his simple questions? _What does he do?_ ("I can't explain it.") _Does he have any kids?_ ("I don't think so.") _Has he ever been married before?_ ("I don't know.") _Did he go to college? Where does he live? Does he have any brothers or sisters? Mom, are you crazy? _She'd never advise him to do what she was doing. Would pop him upside the head if he ever dared try.

And how would John act around him? Did he even like kids? Leila was a baby. How would he do around a teenager? Would he want to do things with Taylor or ignore him? Keep his distance? He'd kept him with him after that horrific ordeal with Elias but neither had mentioned what they'd done those few hours from his rescue until daylight, when she was able to get her hands on him and assure herself that, physically at least, he was alright.

And what about the secret their relationship would have to be? Would have to continue to be? It was easier now. All Taylor knew was that he was someone she knew from her work activities. Someone obviously skilled at kicking ass and taking names. He didn't question it. She was a cop. She ran into all kinds. And Taylor and John had only met that one time. But if she introduced John as her man? And explained the precarious and delicate nature of their secret? How could she ask her son to keep it? How, as a mother, could she put that weight on his shoulders? Could she simply not tell him? Did he really need to know all the details?

Why in God's precious name was she even entertaining these thoughts?

She finished picking over her lunch and looked at her watch. It was time to go. She had a witness to interview. She had a damn job to do.

Entering her apartment following the relatively easy day at work, Carter couldn't help but do a quick sweep of her place before she closed the door behind her. _Good_, she thought. He wasn't here. Not that she was expecting to see him. But with him, she never knew. She deposited her bag on the couch and removed her holster while she walked to her bedroom. She was still uncomfortable in there. In her own damn bedroom. What had happened there, how he had made her feel so good she wanted to climb the walls...She shook her head, went to the closet to lock up her gun, and took off her shoes, tossing them in the corner. Closing the closet door, she stood there. Her mind drifting again. She wondered what he was doing. It was Monday, a full three days later. A full three days since he'd turned her world upside down. Again.

She turned the television on as she headed to the kitchen. She was going to find some leftovers to eat. Taylor had a Key Club event after school and would get fed before or after it like he usually did. She smiled. She couldn't be more proud of him if she tried. Excellent student and an even better son. He never gave her a moment's trouble. She didn't know how she'd hit the Child Lottery jackpot but she had. Entering the kitchen, she gasped. If she were honest with herself, if only for a few seconds, she would admit she had been itching to see him, but irritation at seeing him still warred within her. Thinking about him and this colossal mistake she was making annoyed her. "Seriously, John? Do you get some sick, twisted thrill out of scaring the crap out of me?"

His back was to her and she watched as he shrugged and turned his head to look at her. "Maybe just a little." He smiled at her before turning back to whatever it was he was doing at her kitchen counter. That smile of his irritated her, too.

Walking over to the refrigerator-again her thoughts wandered back to that night-she threw it open, aggravation with herself in full swing. Which is why her mouth didn't stop moving. "You need to stop. It's creepy. Just tell me if you're coming over. Or better yet, ask me. What if Taylor had been here?"

John wiped the grin off his face. She must have had a rough day. And was not in the mood. At least he hoped that was what it was. The night they had slept together, Finch had called him six-thirty the following morning about Don Whitman. He had had to rush off before they had the chance to talk. About what happened. About where to go from there. He hadn't had the chance to gauge if she was as close as he was. To falling to that point of no return. Where only finalities like death would keep him away from her. Where he absolutely hadn't wanted to go again. Not in this lifetime. But like with nearly everything else in his life, a curveball had been ruthlessly hurled at his head, and he did what he had been trained to: assess, adjust, and act accordingly.

He had called her later that day but the conversation had been stilted. It was Saturday afternoon and he assumed it was because Taylor was home. He had asked how she was doing. She said she was fine and asked how his early morning excursion had turned out. He gave her some line about it being a walk in the park before she deftly reminded Taylor to check on the pizza in the oven, letting him know her son was present. Ending the call, she told him she'd call him back later. He didn't-still didn't-know when later was supposed to be. Monday had come around and he wanted to see her, possibly square some things. His nature didn't allow for letting things fester like an open sore. Not anymore. He didn't think hers did either. He had lived too much, seen too much, suffered entirely too much for that.

Unfazed by his silence, she continued. "I'd do it to you but I don't know where in the hell you even live." Finding the Ziploc bag of leftover pizza, she shut the door a little more forcefully than was necessary, moving to her right to place the bag on the counter directly opposite the one he was working at. She reached up into the cupboard to find a paper plate, glad they were on her side of the kitchen so she didn't have to face him just yet. She would take one look into his eyes and forget all of the bad things that were going to come their way. And she didn't want to do that. She needed to remember the pain it was going to bring. So she could do the right thing. The sane thing.

He winced almost imperceptibly. She hadn't just had a bad day. Not due to work at least. She needed something from him. He sprinkled the bacon bits over each salad before setting the pouch down and turning around. Her back was to him but he spoke anyway. "Turtle Bay. 5314 East 47th. Penthouse apartment. I keep a spare key underneath the fake plant outside my door on the left. It makes me feel a little less paranoid. Doing something someone normal might do." He watched her pause, still her movements. "You can have my key right now if you want...Joss." It wasn't much, he knew. What he'd just given her. But it was something. He stood there and continued to watch her back, watch as her head lowered just slightly.

It had been a way of keeping his distance. Emotionally at least. Only referring to her by her last name. It hadn't been an issue with anyone else he came into contact with more than once that he didn't outright dislike. "Harold," "Lionel," "Zoe," even "Leon." But never "Joss." Except for that one time. The first time he'd been close enough to touch her since he met her. When he'd been entirely too close to being too late. He knew at that moment he wouldn't make that mistake again. Let that feeling of caring too much enter the picture again, let her beautiful, simple name escape his lips again, remind him of what he felt when he looked into her eyes that very first time. But things had changed. Curveballs.

Carter sighed deeply. Why was he making it so hard for her? Telling her things. Sharing. She wanted to find the strength to end things. Take that memory of Friday night with her without adding any more to it. Learn to live with her rapacious feelings for him until they eventually faded like all painful things did. "John..." She didn't know what to say. How to go about it. Because she didn't want to. And what kind of insane person did that make her?

He sensed where this was going. This wasn't going to end like he originally thought; the only heart that would be breaking would be his. So the words came. And wouldn't stop. "My name is John Reid. I was born in Sandpoint, Idaho May 3rd, 1969. Only child. My mother died when I was seven. Father raised me. He was tough but we got along okay.

"I wanted to be a pilot when I grew up. Got over that in high school, didn't know what I wanted to do in college. Eventually got a degree in chemical engineering-took five and a half years-worked at a few places and decided it wasn't for me. Didn't have much direction so I was an easy target for army recruiters. Got in, stayed in. I liked it, the brotherhood. Felt I had purpose. That I was doing something important. Fell in love, decided to leave. 9/11 happened, felt I had to go back. Lost Jessica, lost myself." He paused momentarily. Jessica. He knew she knew all about Jessica. She probably even knew everything else he'd just told her. She was a damn good detective. But coming out of his mouth, it mattered. "I've been in love three times. Jamie Ortuso in college. Jessica...My favorite color is black. Big fan of sweets, bigger fan of chocolate. I could eat Indian and Vietnamese food all day. I'm scared of snakes so don't ever ask me to kill one for you." He watched her shoulders bounce and heard a small chuckle escape from her lips. He watched as she turned around, a tiny smile on her face, appreciation in her eyes. He took a moment to soak it in, cleanse himself with it. He stared into her eyes.

"I have nightmares. Not as many as I used to. Just occasional ones now. I have a fear of failure, of not being there in time. I don't trust easily. I never have. I could help a thousand people and never make up for all the wrong I've done. But I try. And I hope one day I can forgive myself." He watched her eyes as she took him in. Him, John, for the first time. As he took himself in for the first time in years.

Staring at him for a moment, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you." He was a little less of a mystery to her now. A little. And she felt confident, for the first time, that he would tell her anything she wanted to know. Outside of his business with Finch. But she would try to stifle her curiosity about that, as much as she could anyway. Not because he asked her to. But because she didn't want to risk his fear coming true. She wouldn't consciously do anything to put herself in that situation. Where he felt he needed to save her because she had dug too deep. Where he worried that he wouldn't make it in time. She breathed him in, felt his arms hold her close, felt his head lower to the crook of her neck, felt his breath as he inhaled and exhaled. This time was different, though. This time she didn't feel like she was holding a stranger.

Stepping back, she looked into his eyes. She couldn't. He had just given her more than she'd expected. More than she'd known the entire time he'd been in her life. It was nothing to the average person, expected without question in fact. But she suspected it took a lot out of him to do that. To look back on where he came from, share some of his pain. Give a piece of himself to another person, someone who could use it to harm him later. But, right now, she just couldn't. She couldn't tell him her fears. She couldn't tell him how much it was going to hurt her to let him go.

Trying to lighten the heavy mood, she peeked around him from within his arms. "Salads, huh?" She twisted her face into a grimace and slowly pulled out of his embrace to scrutinize them further. He watched her with amusement. "I really appreciate it, John, but," she shook her head. "I don't do rabbit food. I don't know how you even got this in my house without setting off some alarms."

He let a laugh rumble low in his belly.

**********  
As Carter ate leftover pizza, Reese munched on the rabbit food and eyed her curiously. She was checking her watch. Nervously. Constantly. He had been regaling her with stories about his childhood trips to Montana and other places he'd been around the world. Before his tenure with the CIA. If he told her those stories, she'd pack up and move halfway across the world to get away from him. She had been engaged and asked a few questions here and there, sharing some of her travels as well, but her eyes always subtly drifted back to her watch. It was beginning to make him nervous. "Carter, do you want me to leave?" _Joss_. He meant Joss. Old habits die hard.

She looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"You keep checking your watch."

She shook her head quickly. "Oh. Sorry. Taylor's going to be home soon." She kicked her own ass mentally. She should have said something else. Lied. He was going to ask now. And she was going to have to tell him.

He let a smirk plaster his face. "We're just having dinner. He's not about to walk in on us doing anything." He gave her a couple of seconds. But when she didn't respond to his ribbing, he shifted forward in his chair. He wanted her to look at him so he could read her eyes, get her to tell him what was wrong.

She knew he wanted her to look at him. But she refused. She wasn't ready. Needed to steel herself first. For what those eyes would probably do to her. So instead of giving him what he wanted, she got up from the table, taking her empty paper plate and napkin with her.

He sat back in his chair. He wanted to follow her into the kitchen to question her but he didn't want to crowd her. Her kitchen was small. And he towered over her. He didn't want her to feel pressured. Instead he waited for her to come back out. She would eventually. Especially if she was concerned about him still being there when her son came home. Although if anybody could wait him out, she could.

She took a moment to compose herself, get herself together. He knew something was up. So she needed to put on her big girl panties and face him with it. Because she never ran from anything. She repeated that mantra in her head a few times before leaving the kitchen, hoping once she got out there and looked at him she wouldn't crumble to pieces.

He didn't turn to look at her as he heard her approach. He only focused on her once she was seated across from again. He had the distinct feeling he wasn't going to like what she said next.

She took a deep breath. "I don't want Taylor to know about you."

"He already does."

She sighed loudly. "You know what I mean. You're wanted. _I'm _supposed to be arresting you. He won't be able to tell anyone about us. We're going to have to ask him to lie. How am I supposed to burden him with that?"

"He can tell anybody he wants about me. So can you. No one knows what I look like. Does he know about the 'Man in a Suit?'"

"Of course not. I don't bring work home." The nonchalance radiating from him was raising her hackles.

"Well, then, my name's John Reese. I'm in private security. Bodyguard services mostly, some surveillance...And I adore his mother."

_Damn him! _"What about Snow? He knows what you look like." That sobered him up a little. When she ran into Snow a few weeks ago, he claimed he was no longer looking for John. She would have believed him. If she were stupid that way.

"I can handle Snow."

"Oh really?"

"Snow won't be interested in Taylor. He won't bother him. Taylor doesn't have anything he wants."

"I didn't think Elias would be interested in him either, John. And look what happened. What I was doing had nothing to do with my son and he still got kidnapped. People use who you love to hurt you, make you do things you wouldn't normally do. You know that."

After several moments, he leaned forward in his chair, eyes broiling hers with their vehemence. "I won't let anything happen to Taylor, Carter."

She almost believed him. Almost grabbed his hand, forgot all her worries, and led him back to her bedroom for a few rounds. "You can't promise me that, John. Nobody can."

He didn't let up an inch. The laser-like focus of his eyes. "I promised you nothing would happen to him when Elias had him. That I would bring him back to you. And I didn't even know where he was at the time. You trusted me then. I need you to trust me now."

He was winning. Like Charlie fucking Sheen. She was running out of arguments. He was slowly chipping away at her fears. Slowly. Because she knew there was no bloody way in hell it would be so simple. She still wasn't sure. Not sure at all about pursuing this. About this pothole-laden road trip and its dead end destination. But that damn high still hadn't worn off. She still hadn't come down. Not completely. Thirty-six hours later. Being too close to him right now. That's what it was. Feeling the strength and security coming off of him in waves. The dogged determination and intense sexual energy.

He knew he was breaking her down. He knew because it was something he was good at. And it was for something he wanted. He was determined to mitigate as many of her concerns as he could. Even as he swallowed. It wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done. Getting into this emotional entanglement. It was turning out to be the one thing he didn't have complete control over. If any at all. He wondered the depths to which he would go for this woman. Probably depths to which even he had never seen.

Rising, he walked over to her, squatting down beside her chair. He waited until she turned to look at him. "Do you trust me?" He saw the fight in her eyes. The fear for him, herself, and her son. "I'll protect him. I'll protect us." He grabbed her hand sitting in her lap. "I'll always look out for you, Joss. You and Taylor. Even if you tell me you don't want me."

She didn't even know why she bothered. She really didn't. What was the point? She was too far gone. Had been kidding herself the whole damn time. Soon, her hands were on his face, lips on his mouth. He was rising up from his low perch, taking her with him.

Taylor would be home shortly. Now wasn't the time for this. But why wasn't she stopping? Why didn't she have any control over her body right now? She was in the air one minute, lying on her Posturepedic the next. Caught up. Only briefly noting one of them had at least closed her door. Glad she was on the pill. Because this was ridiculous. Carrying on like a horny, irresponsible teenager.

But it was feeling so good. So good right now. He had skills. Unbelievable skills. Oh, God, they were unbelievable! She cried out in sheer, unadulterated ecstasy.

He was resting heavily on top of her now, catching his breath. Coming down. Slowly coming down. He raised his head. Searched her eyes. "Was that a yes?"

It took her a moment to catch his meaning, her toes still involuntarily curling. Still. Orgasm aftershocks.

She continued to look at him. What did it matter if she let her heart take over? It had already led her here. Today or three years from now, if she lost him, it wouldn't hurt any less. And for her son, her baby, there was probably no safer place to be than with her, John at her side. She had already risked everything. Before all the euphoric sex and bone deep confessions. So what did it really matter? "I trust you." She did. To do everything he could, even if it ended up not being enough. That was the best they could do. The best they could hope for. The best anyone could hope for. She watched as he bent down, placing a small peck on her lips before rolling off her and the bed. She watched as he gathered her clothes from the floor, placing them at her side before gathering his own. Putting them on, he offered by way of explanation, "Taylor. You can tell him when you're ready."

Smiling softly in gratitude, she followed his lead. Clothes back in place, she watched him head toward her bedroom door before stopping suddenly. He turned back to her, reaching into his pants pocket. He pulled out his keys, taking one off the key ring and handing it to her. Without another word, he slipped out of the room and out of the apartment.

She took a moment to remember the look in his eyes, the hitch in his throat, when he had caught himself. Kept himself from naming his third love. His third and hopefully last. It had been there, splayed out in the open for her to see.

It was her.

_Two weeks later_

Harold's voice was urgent. "John, there's someone lurking outside Daniel's home." He watched as his heart began to pound. Like always when he was working a case from the library and wished he had John's skills to immediately intervene. The live video feed from Daniel Windsor's home surveillance showed a lithe, darkly clothed and masked individual creeping toward the Windsors' residence. John had been doing surveillance on Daniel, their latest number, for only the better part of a day. The case had been stumping them; they had yet to discover whether Windsor was the potential perpetrator or victim. He was a mystery to them, seemingly clean, with a wife and cocker spaniel at home.

But clearly something had changed.

Reese began making his way down from his perch across the street from Windsor's office where the man had been working late after having been called in. "Is his wife home?"

Harold watched as the intruder made his way out of the view of the cameras. The lights were on in the home and the wife's cell phone was in the home as well. "Yes. And, Mr. Reese, I'm fairly certain I saw a weapon with a silencer. If he's after Daniel he might not realize Daniel was called away to work."

A thought occurred to Reese as he stealthily continued his descent. "Or Windsor made sure he was called away to work so the guy he hired can kill his wife."

The thought hadn't occurred to Finch but nothing about anybody's intentions surprised him anymore. Quickly, he calculated Reese's travel time to the Windsor home. Six minutes barring traffic. He knew if he contacted the police, it might take them slightly longer by the time he explained the situation and they dispatched help. Every second was critical. Detective Fusco was out of town with his son and he saw that Detective Carter was in Chelsea, most likely working a case and would need time to extricate herself. John was the closest to help Daniel Windsor's wife. Finch caught another glimpse of the perpetrator. "He's definitely a professional. He's about to cut the surveillance feed. Mr. Reese, you'll have to hurry. I'm going to try to call Mrs. Windsor. Tell her to find someplace to hide in the house until you can get there."

"I'm on it." Disconnecting the call with Finch, Reese hopped into the late model Cadillac and checked his side mirror before peeling out into traffic. He dialed Carter's number.

"Carter."

"Are you anywhere near Soho by any chance?"

"Not too far. I'm in Chelsea about to meet with a CI. Why?"

She sounded like she was on foot. And distracted. "Something's about to go down and I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a mess to-."

"John, hang on."

Reese's foot eased up on the accelerator as he heard two gunshots and the deafening sounds of a struggle. "Carter?" He heard her short, stifled groans as if she were being hit, taking a beating. "Carter?!" He spent about five seconds absolutely paralyzed, the car continuing to decelerate. Five seconds longer than he'd ever spent in his life. He tried helplessly one more time. "Joss, what's happening?!" Again getting no response, he disconnected the call and immediately connected with Finch. "Finch, where's Carter?"

Finch noted the panic in John's voice but his own adrenaline response was preventing him from processing it. "She isn't close enough to help, John, why?"

"I just called her. I heard gunshots and a struggle and she's not responding. I need to know where she is."

_Oh my God. Not now. _Harold's anxiety magnified tenfold. Detective Carter could handle herself in almost any situation. She was one of the toughest women he had ever met. So it was a struggle to comprehend anything happening to her and he felt his heart constrict in his chest. He had tried to reach Mrs. Windsor via the household's landline connection and her cell phone and she hadn't answered either. The would-be hit man had just finished cutting the video feeds while he was making the phone calls so he assumed she might have been somewhere unable or not caring to get to the phone, in the shower perhaps, but she was still alive. The killer was likely only just making his way inside the house.

Wide eyes glued to Carter's location on his GPS tracking map instead of the now blank video feed screen, he relayed the information. "She's at Ninth and West 28th in Chelsea." Ten minutes away from John. Over twenty away from him. He closed his eyes to try to calm himself down. "Mr. Reese-John-you're three minutes away from the Windsors'. I will get help for Detective Carter, I promise."

Reese's heart was in his throat. She was at least ten minutes away. He knew he was physically closer to help Windsor's wife but every other piece of him was with Carter. He did the math. Three minutes to the house. Another three to find and disarm the hit man. Another minute to make it back to his car. All of it time away from Carter. His mind went back. To where he really didn't like for it to go. The Ordos orders and Jessica. His job, her plea for help. The decision he'd made. Being too late. His tires squealed as he diverged from his path, taking him farther away from the Windsor home. He heard Finch calling dispatch, trying to get help for Carter. He tried calling her phone again to no avail. It only rang. "Finch, get the cops to the Windsor house."

Finch's tracking map verified his suspicions. Reese was headed toward Joss Carter. He called it in even as his rapidly beating heart sank. There was no way Mrs. Windsor was going to make it. Too much precious time had been lost. And, for whatever reason, there were no activated cameras at that intersection of Ninth and 28th to shed any light on what had happened or was happening to Detective Carter. The fear for his friends and heartache at what was about to unfold in Soho threatened to consume him. He truly didn't know if he would be able to keep it together.

Reese was burning so much rubber he didn't know how the tires hadn't completely disintegrated. If he heard sirens behind him, he decided they would just have to follow him to Joss. He wouldn't think about if he was too late. If he was too late to help her and wouldn't have been too late to save Mrs. Windsor. He wouldn't think about life without Joss in it. He wasn't ready for it to be over. Their moment. Not yet. Not like this.

Carter felt herself being helped from the cold asphalt, her thoughts beginning to wade through the pain to make sense in her mind. She looked at who was helping her. It was her CI, Kevin. She felt like they were walking forever as he led her to some dark alleyway.

"You should be okay over here." He gently helped her settle into a seated position against the brick wall.

"Thanks, Kevin." She was breathless. The walk had worn her out. Her head was swimming, she felt nauseous, and her entire body ached. She had seen some possible gang members about to take someone out but apparently they had been well prepared for interruptions. Someone had clocked her in the head from behind before she even had the chance to make sense of the scene, and made sure she wouldn't get back up again anytime soon. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to talk. And she was pretty sure the small group she'd interrupted had completed their deadly task.

But she had been on the phone with John when it happened.

_Shit. _She already knew. He was worried out of his mind. Probably on the way to help someone and she had become a major distraction. She needed to call him back, let him know she was okay. But she didn't have her phone.

"I can get a car if you need me to take you to the hospital."

She could tell in his voice he didn't really want to. And she didn't want him to either. He was a great source she didn't want to lose. She didn't want anyone in his neighborhood to find out what he was doing with her. "No, it's okay, Kevin." She took a moment to take several shallow breaths, feeling herself about to fall asleep even amidst all the pain. "Did you see my phone?" She had no idea where she was right now. How far they walked from where she had fallen. And it was taking too much energy to converse with Kevin. She wanted to let go. Close her eyes and rest.

"No, but I wasn't looking. I can go find it." He already knew he wasn't going to get an answer. She had closed her eyes and slid down to the ground, her body in a prone position. He heard sirens coming but decided to stay with Carter anyway, just long enough to direct the cops to her. She was good people. He knelt down and tried to wake her up.

**********  
Reese got to the intersection in eight minutes, amazed he had not attracted any police with his driving. Though it was late, traffic had still slowed him down. He had wanted to get there in two. But he still wouldn't think about it. Every red light he ran, he still would not think about it.

There were three cop cars already there but he saw no sign of Joss. He couldn't just stand there and wait, so he began to survey the area, trying to determine where to look first. He saw a couple of cops standing around a body lying supine half a block from where he stood, not bothering to offer any medical aid. Whoever it was was already gone. He wouldn't. He wouldn't think about it. Before he felt his body begin to paralyze again, he heard someone shout, "Over here!" and followed the officers as more police vehicles pulled up. There weren't enough on the scene yet to contain onlookers so he quickly followed suit.

Then he saw her. The cops radioed for an ambulance and were tending to her. She was responding to them. Conscious. The relief washed over him so profoundly he nearly fell to his knees.

He stayed at the entrance to the alley with a few other onlookers, more cops arriving and barking orders at him and the others to stay back.

He wanted to rush over there, tell them she was his girlfriend and that he'd been on the phone with her when it happened and had raced down to find her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, hold her hand, talk to her. Anything to be close to her. But he didn't. He could have. He reminded himself none of them knew he was one of their most wanted, but he thought about her. If any of them knew her, they might ask questions. Questions she might not be ready to answer. So he stayed back. In the shadows.

"John! What's happening? Is she alright?"

Reese backed away from the small crowd to talk to Finch on the phone, his eyes still on Joss. "Cops are here. She's going to be okay." _She's going to be okay, _he told himself again. The adrenaline surge finally waned and he felt like collapsing. He was drained, completely devoid of energy. This had taken too much. Entirely too much out of him.

"Oh, thank goodness."

"Finch." He didn't want to ask but he needed to know. "What happened?"

"The police made it. Mrs. Windsor's okay. And I believe they arrested the perpetrator."

Reese closed his eyes and breathed his second sigh of relief for the night. The ambulance had arrived. Joss was going to be okay. Windsor's wife was alive. His next stop would be the hospital. He would have to square things with Finch later. Apologize. Explain. Something. Anything. He had let his personal feelings interfere with his job. After he'd told his friend and boss that nothing would change. It had. It had changed a lot. Someone had come before his job, before all else. She hadn't asked to be placed there, never would, but there she was. Where she would stay.

He wasn't the same person anymore.

Harold removed his glasses and placed his head in his hands before rubbing his temples. He didn't have the heart to tell him Diana Windsor had been shot to death. Listening in on the police scanner feed had verified it. There was no telling whether John would have made it in time. Maybe he could have. Maybe he couldn't. But Finch understood. After all, he had given the former CIA field agent the opportunity to right wrongs, the chance to get there in time. Unlike with Jessica Arndt. It had been the final push he needed to get John to participate in his mission.

Nothing about the man was half-hearted, done halfway. John seemed to love wholly. Fell deeply and completely. He couldn't fault him for that. He truly couldn't. But it didn't make any of it easier. There was still a dead woman who probably could have been saved. He didn't know if he would ever tell John the truth. Maybe he would one day. Most likely not. He rose from his chair, needing a moment to wait until his muscles stopped protesting before acknowledging Bear. He would meet John at the hospital. He redialed his friend to find out which one.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!

ETA: I had to edit this. Because his birthday is May 3rd, not March 3rd, when "Many Happy Returns" aired. *smacks self in head*


End file.
